


Kiss, Bed, Wed

by TheDarkMetalLady



Series: Four Heroes Walk Into a Bar... [6]
Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Crack, Drinking, Drinking Games, Funny, Games, Gen, Humor, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22188481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkMetalLady/pseuds/TheDarkMetalLady
Summary: Boredom struck once more, and the group of heroes (and villain) were looking for another activity to pass time.
Series: Four Heroes Walk Into a Bar... [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537972
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Kiss, Bed, Wed

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the Gloryhammer characters. Please note that this story is about the _characters represented by the band_ and **not** about the band members themselves.

It took several hours before the Hootsman returned from Loch Ness. In the meantime, the other members of this merry band of misfits had sobered up and gotten drunk again, which was in perfect timing, for no one sane wanted to deal with a Hootsman while sober. 

During the few hours of sobering up, hating each other, fighting each other, and then returning to the inn to get drunk again after calling a stalemate, the seating positions had changed, and Ralathor had sat down next to Angus McFife while the Dark Sorcerer sat down across from the warrior. (It was the lesser good compared to sitting across from Ralathor, in his opinion. At least this way he’d have a direct shot if he found need to throw anything at the mortling’s pathetically childish face.) 

This had meant that the seat next to Zargothrax had been empty, and despite the Dark Sorcerer’s best attempts to block the seat with his legs (and show off his fabulous leggings in the process), the Hootsman sat down next to Zargothrax.

Zargothrax was not pleased and silently swore revenge.

“So, what are we doing next? Sharing more stories?” the Hootsman asked five minutes after he returned, already drinking his second mug.

“No.”

“We ought to play a game,” Angus announced with all the grandness a drunk prince could have. 

“Never have I ever?” Zargothrax suggested. He was curious what secrets he could weasel out of these fools.

“No,” Ralathor said, “we already tried that once.”

Zargothrax didn’t ask what happened. 

“Charades?” Hoots suggested.

Zargothrax huffed. “Can you even stand up properly, you big drunk oaf?” The concept of standing up and making a fool of oneself did not appeal to the Dark Sorcerer’s tastes. “Two truths and a lie?”

“Do you  _ want _ to find out more about the Hootsman’s sex life?” Ralathor asked. 

“We can drop him into Loch Ness again for the duration of it! Maybe this time Nessie will actually eat him like she was supposed to!”

“How about Kiss, Date, Ditch?” the Hootsman suggested. 

“Too easy,” Angus complained. “Everyone will be ditching Zargothrax.”

“Shut up, you insolent little--”

“He’s right.”

“Don’t make me flood your caves with sewage, hermit.”

“How about Kiss, Bed, Wed?” the Hootman suggested.

“No,” Zargothrax said.

“Yes,” Angus said.

The two glared at each other across the table. 

“...fine,” Zargothrax finally said, deigning that at least this would provide entertainment for him in the form of embarrassment for all of them, even if he’d have to make up something when it came to be his turn.

“I’ll go first!” the Hootsman announced. “We each pick from among the others, right?”

“Well you can’t damn well bed yourself, Hootsman, no matter how much you want to,” Zargothrax said dryly. “No apologies if I shattered your belief of how the world works.” If Zargothrax was going to suffer through this, he was going to make the best of it.

Ralathor got no say in the matter.

The Hootsman downed his third mug before looking at the others critically, raising and lowering his eyebrows as he examined each of them individually. 

“For kiss…” Hoots began, looking over all of them, “you.” He pointed at Ralathor. “I’d say otherwise, but I don’t think Nessie was too happy with me interrupting her nap.”

Ralathor breathed a sigh of relief and drank from his mug.

“For wed…” Hoots looked among the two remaining choices, then winked at Angus.

“No no no no no,” Zargothrax said, realizing what was left.

“And bedding… who else but the self-proclaimed conqueror?”

Zargothrax regretted everything. He downed his mug, then stole Angus’s and downed that as well. (He would try to steal Ralathor’s if he didn’t suspect it of being hexed.)

“I’ll go next,” Angus said. He looked around at the others, then gained a grin that spelled only bad news. He held up a hand and blew a kiss to Ralathor.

Ralathor flipped him off, earning a snicker from Angus. 

“Seems like Ralathor’s getting lots of kisses to share,” Hoots commented. 

“I will toss you into the North Sea.”

“Love you, too, Old Hoody.”

The Hootsman’s beard inexplicably turned pink. 

In the meantime, Zargorthrax was glaring darkly at Angus, just daring the mortal scum to  _ try  _ embarrassing the Dark Sorcerer. Zargothrax would get the last laugh. He swore he would. 

“So, Angus,” Hoots said. “Who’d you bed and who’d you wed, between me and Dark Depressing here?” Hoots swung an arm around Zargothrax’s shoulders and pulled the wizard closer cheerfully, confusing the sorcerer. (Had it not been for the Hootsman having the element of surprise and catching the inebriated sorcerer off-guard, Zargothrax would have likely ripped the barbarian’s arm off.)

“Wed?” Angus asked, then thought. “Probably Zargothrax, because then I can divorce him after and never have to see him again.”

Zargothrax pushed the rude brute with no sense of personal space off of himself and wiped off his cloak in disgust where the barbarian had rested his arm. “I can assure you that the idea of a quick divorce is mutual.”

“You can’t steal it,” Angus said in a singsong voice. 

“I have something better,” Zargothrax said with a confident huff.

“Then share, I’m listening,” Angus challenged.

“But what about who you’d bed, Angus?” Hoots asked. 

“Silence, meathead,” the dark sorcerer hissed, unhappy to have been distracted from his banter with a more worthy opponent, for clearly anyone could provide a better challenge at banter than a lowbrow warrior the Hootsman. “Give it a few moments of thought and perhaps the dustmite you call a brain may realize that it he had given an indirect answer already.” 

“Stop stalling,” Ralathor said.

“I am not stalling!” 

“You are stalling.”

Zargothrax muttered under his breath, counting backwards in goblonic.  _ Must. Not. Murder. Yet. _ After all, murdering the infuriating hermit would only ruin whatever pieces of a revenge plan he had (and oh, did he have a revenge plan, one that would take advantage of a little detail Ralathor wasn’t noticing…). “I would kiss…” He looked around the group and internally cringed while speaking, though making sure to never break facade, “The Hootsman -- and not on the mouth, I never want to taste  _ that _ \-- before annihilating him.”

“Would you kiss me somewhere else?” The Hootsman asked suggestively.

Zargothrax ignored him. Tempting as it was to send the uncivilised and crude barbarian into Loch Ness again, that would only ruin his plans in the long run, and Zargothrax was determined to get his revenge. “I would wed Angus, so that when I murder him --  _ accidentally _ , I assure you -- I would inherit the throne of the Kingdom of Fife.” Zargothrax couldn’t help his smirk as he turned to look at the hermit sitting diagonally across from him, the hermit’s expression slowly dropping as he realized what awaited him. Good. That only made Zargothrax smirk more. “As for you, my dear fellow scholar of the magical arts…” 

Zargothrax cast a small spell to call the bartender over with some props. In the meantime, he leaned a bit into the aisle (using magic to hold up his upper body better so it looked effortless) so that he could lift his leg up to display it, using the Hootsman’s shoulder as a footrest. Zargothrax maintained eye contact with Ralathor the entire time. To top it off, Zargothrax stroked his hand along his own perfectly stylish thigh, winking. (No, he was  _ not _ copying the brainless barbarian. He was doing it  _ better _ .) 

In the meantime, the bartender walked over and placed down two fancy pink drinks, one in front of Zargothrax and one in front of Ralathor. He also placed a candle in the middle of the table, of course. (They may have been in a bar, but Zargothrax was more than ready to say that he believed that romance wasn’t dead, just resurrected many times over by necromancy and a bit altered because of it.) Then the bartender left. 

Zargothrax picked up his drink with all the additional flourish and grace the situation called for. He kept his gaze on Ralathor for another moment, mainly to ensure that Ralathor was continuing to watch in horror, before throwing his head back and downing the whole drink, allowing his hood to fall and hair cascade down gracefully. 

Afterwards, he looked at Ralathor once more and said with a smirk. “As I was saying -- I believe we could arrange something fun and enjoyable after all.” With that, he brought his leg down from the barbarian’s shoulder and magicked away everything that would have been evidence of what had occurred (including using magic to put his hood back on), just so that Ralathor could doubt himself more later. “I hope you will return the sentiment during your turn, which should be… oh, right about now.”

It took a few seconds for Ralathor to respond, as the hermit had to first remember how to function and speak first. “You’re about to be disappointed.” He looked at the group. “Kiss -- Angus, but only once I’m sufficiently intoxicated. Wed -- Hootsman, so I can hex him to be stuck in California.”

“So… based on who’s left… wait, you’re bedding Zargothrax, too!?” The Hootsman asked. “Is there some secret romance we should be aware of? An old flame? Why was I not aware of this?”

“No, I am  _ not _ bedding him. Never.” Ralathor glared at the Hootsman. “I’d rather bed a hologram.”

A voice spoke from behind Ralathor. “Pardon, what?”

Ralathor froze.

Zargothrax couldn’t hold back his own smirk and was sure to hide it behind his mug. “Well, I suppose the rules were that you can select from the people in attendance,” he commented smugly. 

Ralathor swallowed and looked over his shoulder to ask, “How long have you been standing there?” 

“And glaring at you all for replacing me with a Dark Sorcerer for the party after I had helped in the mighty battle? For the entire duration, roughly.”

“So… you heard everything?”

“You had been in the battle?” Angus asked. 

“I’d still rather bed a sorcerer than a hologram,” Hoots commented. 

Proletius raised his eyebrows… and then walked away. This was not worth overheating his projectors for in shock, and he couldn’t get drunk anyways, so why bother. 

“Wait, come back! I’m sorry if I offended you! We could have a threesome?”

**Author's Note:**

> This work was beta-read by [Lavender_Persimmon305](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_Persimmon305/pseuds/Lavender_Persimmon305) (Tumblr: [tellmeoflegends](https://tellmeoflegends.tumblr.com/)).


End file.
